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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26289367">Love me in spite</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/DryDreams/pseuds/DryDreams'>DryDreams</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, F/M, Insomnia, Platonic Cuddling, Self-Hatred, Set during S3, Touch-Starved, talk of their past relationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 07:55:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,211</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26289367</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/DryDreams/pseuds/DryDreams</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“I just can’t <em>sleep,”</em> he blurts finally, the words having to force their way out of his throat. “I just, I thought if I could just find the <em>damn</em> cat, then maybe, if I could just lay next to someone, if I, I just—“</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jonathan Sims/Georgie Barker</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>162</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Love me in spite</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>4:13 a.m.</p><p>That’s what the little itch in the back of Jon’s mind tells him. After he glances at the clock and confirms it, he wonders if he’s made up the memory of knowing what time it was before he looked.</p><p>He feels heavy and fuzzy around the edges; soft in a bad way, in a blurry way. The ache of unfocused dread sits heavy under his sternum and he knows if he touches it with his mind, little bits will come off, small thoughts of death and rot and eternity breaking away in pieces and seeding in his mind and if he isn’t careful the whole thing will unravel and, and—</p><p>He is so <em>lonely.</em></p><p>He just wants to <em>sleep.</em></p><p>He pretends that the ache is just loneliness, attributes it to the wish that someone were here, close to him. It’s not entirely a lie; he imagines if there were only someone, something he could curl up next to, feel them breathing, ground him in the solid present, maybe then. Maybe then he could sleep. </p><p>He misses Georgie. Just on the other side of the wall, in the bed they used to sleep in together, a lifetime ago. He doesn’t miss her in any sort of foolish yearning way, no. Those feelings have been gone and he’s pointedly not thinking of who has replaced them and just how warm he would be next to Jon in a bed, or how the rise and fall of his chest is all Jon wants to feel. He misses touching Georgie, though, in that he misses touching anyone, freely and with feeling.</p><p>He’d settle for the cat, he thinks vaguely and then thinks again, more seriously. Maybe that would be enough to calm him. The Admiral is soft and alive and maybe he will even settle against Jon’s hand by choice, give the illusion of affection. </p><p>The thought prompts such a desperation in Jon that it pierces the exhausted stillness he’s been trapped in since he laid his head down hours ago and he sits up, rolling off the couch in a smooth motion.</p><p>Quietly he chirps, listening for the sound of the bell on the little red collar as he shuffles around in the dark. His head is aching faintly now that he’s stood up, loudly protesting his state of consciousness. His eyelids droop. </p><p>When he reaches out and touches a doorframe he realizes it is Georgie’s room. Which is likely where the cat is, and he’s too tired and too determined to achieve his goal that he forgets manners for a moment, nudging open the cracked door and chirping again. </p><p>Relief rushes over him as he hears the <em>mrrp</em> of The Admiral awaking and promptly a thud as he jumps to the ground. </p><p>Then there’s a brush at Jon’s shins and nothing as the cat walks nonchalantly past him, not even pausing to say hello.</p><p>It’s stupid, and he knows, but the frustration that has been building in him over hours of tossing and turning comes to a sharp peak and the ache in his chest spreads, tensing his jaw and pricking behind his eyes. His hands clench around nothing and he just sits, knees folding under him like they’ve been kicked.</p><p>His heart beats loud in his ears and the dark quiet feels deafening, the buzz of silence filling his ears and he stares hard into the darkness, blinking away the stinging tears as he tries to keep his breathing steady.</p><p>“Jon?”</p><p>He startles, shifting and making an embarrassing little sound. </p><p>“Jon, what on <em>earth</em> are you doing?” Georgie says from her bed, voice heavy with sleep.</p><p>Jon opens his mouth to apologize but his throat tightens, and it <em>hurts,</em> and all he does is choke out a quiet sob. </p><p>There’s a shuffling and Jon feels angry, stupid, you’ve woken her up because you’re acting like a child who had a nightmare, you’re a grown man curled up on the carpet and you’re crying because you can’t sleep what is <em>wrong with you,</em> </p><p>Then she is kneeling in front of him, hand outstretched but not touching, and somehow he can see her face in the dark even though he’s not looking at her, creased from sleep and with worry. </p><p>“What’s wrong? Are you alright?” She asks softly and Jon feels all of twenty years old again, and he can’t keep himself from lurching forward into her touch. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” he chokes out as she turns her palm up for him, touches his face and then pulls him to her shoulder and he doesn’t deserve this, he doesn’t deserve this, this isn’t his anymore he is an intruder he is a burden and he doesn’t deserve, “I’m sorry, I—“</p><p>Another sob wracks him and he curls in on himself, into her as she quietly hushes him, petting at his hair. </p><p>“What do you need?” She gently asks; she still remembers this routine. How could she forget, he thinks bitterly, when she used to have to perform it so often for him, stupid him, nothing has changed, he still can’t keep his damn emotions in check, he still needs to be <em>coddled.</em></p><p>“Jon. What do you need?”</p><p>“I just can’t <em>sleep,”</em> he blurts finally, the words having to force their way out of his throat, but it opens the floodgates nonetheless. “I’ve spent hours trying but I just can’t stop thinking, if I stop thinking I feel afraid and I lose myself and I’m, I just, I thought if I could just find the <em>damn</em> cat, then maybe, if I could just lay next to someone, if I, I just—“</p><p>Georgie hushes him again, and she’s rocking slightly now, back and forth and Jon’s face burns with shame but her arm around his shoulders and her heart beating below his chin is already making his head feel lighter, his mind slow, the dread stuck under his ribs dissipate.</p><p>“It’s okay, Jon. It’s okay. Come on.” She says, and Jon blearily follows as she stands and tugs him along. When she stops by the bed he hesitates, and pulls back, anxiety twisting in his gut, <em>you are not welcome here, you are not welcome here, you are not,</em></p><p>“No, I, you don’t have to, I’m sorry, I can’t just… you don’t..”</p><p>“Hush, Jon. Do you want to? Will it help?”</p><p>Jerkily he nods, and then blinks as he realizes she can’t see him. His eyelashes are clumped and wet. “Yes.” He says quietly. </p><p>“Then get in the bed. It’s okay.”</p><p>Jon gets in the bed. He curls there, above the shoved down covers, tucking his hands under the pillow to hide that they are shaking. When the bed dips behind him he holds his breath. When the length of her presses against his back and her arm slips around his waist he lets it out in a rush. He feels her hair on the back of his neck and her forehead between his shoulder blades. They say nothing.</p><p>He breathes in.</p><p>She breathes out. </p><p>His eyes grow too heavy to keep open.</p><p>She shifts, and her hand curls into a fist over his ribs, and it’s like she’s reaching inside him and taking the fear, crushing it in her palm.  </p><p>He sleeps.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Wrote this in 20 minutes this morning in a fugue state<br/>If you know how hard I’m projecting on Jon here no you don’t<br/>Title is from Out Like a Light by the Honeysticks<br/>&lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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